


A Force In Motion That Cannot Be Stopped

by TheQueeninMourningHasASecret



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Ignores pretty much everything after season 2, M/M, Magic Stiles, Multi, Sick Fic, Sort of AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:51:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueeninMourningHasASecret/pseuds/TheQueeninMourningHasASecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tests are in, and the results aren't good. Stiles has to leave to stay with his mother's sister in another state if he wants to have any hope of getting necessary treatment. Can the pack remain stable without Stiles? Can Derek?<br/>And why in the world does his aunt live in such a convenient yet far-away location?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Force In Motion That Cannot Be Stopped

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted fic on here. I rarely have time to update while studying for my GREs and finishing my undergrad, but I'll do my best to keep things updated.
> 
> I started spitballing the idea for this one before the show started getting insane, so I've kind of stopped paying attention to canon after Derek first became the Alpha, because the show makes absolutely NO sense these days.
> 
> I don't currently have a beta, and I've never been the best with the mechanics side of grammar, so if you spot any major mistakes, please let me know.

It had started innocently enough, a routine checkup uncovered a bruise that hadn't healed (whether from lacrosse or late night shenanigans was anybody's guess), which had led to a CBC…

Which had led to hospital visits.

And emergency CAT and PET scans.

An X-Ray.

Multiple bone marrow tests.

And a diagnosis.

"Please tell me you're kidding, you've got to be kidding me." Stiles replied numbly, having just been given the worst possible scenario in his list of very bad things that could possibly happen in his short, and now apparently potentially shorter, young life. "Its… it's not possible. It didn't show up in Mom until she was at least twice my age. And it wasn't nearly as bad as it is here."

"I'm so sorry Mr. Stilinski," the doctor replied calmly, but with an air of both shock and defeat, "Your mother's case is the only one we've seen quite like yours, and it hadn't developed or metastasized nearly as quickly as yours has. There's… we can begin treatment as soon as possible, but even then we can't guarantee any positive results."

"I understand doctor, I was there, I remember how it went." Stiles said quietly, his voice thick with defeat, "I think I'll be seeking treatment abroad, I don't think I could bear to die in the same hospital as my mother."

"I understand Mr. Stilinski-"

"Please, it's Stiles, Mr. Stilinski is the Sheriff off-duty."

"Stiles then, we'll prepare a list of prescriptions and forward your information to any hospital you choose to seek treatment at."  
Stiles gently slipped off of the examination table, slipping on his shoes and hoodie before turning to shake the doctor's hand. "It was nice knowing you doctor, I appreciate all that you've done for my family. I'm sorry to have to part on these terms. You've always been so good to us."

And with that, he was out the door, weaving his way between nurses in the often too over-crowded and underfunded Beacon Hills Memorial.  
In all his years as a medical professional, Dr. Horace P. Greenberg had never seen a young man quite so confident in the face of nearly certain death. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to treat you… Stiles," He murmured, more to himself than to anyone who could possibly hear, as he righted and aligned the sheaf of medical charts confirming the same strain of cancer that had taken his mother a mere eight years before. "I just wish I could have been of more use to you and your family."

It was late in the day, and Stiles Stilinski had been his last appointment of the night. Dr. Greenberg sighed as he flicked off the light in the cramped examination room. The job never got any easier, and for every happy ending, it felt like there were at least two tragedies in this town. His own son's existence notwithstanding.

\---

It was already nearing nightfall when Stiles pulled into the driveway, his mother's beloved Jeep rattling harshly, almost as if in sympathy for Stiles condition, just like his mother's before him.

The sheriff was already home, one of Stiles' pre-made lean organic chicken breast salads with a low-sodium vinaigrette in his lap and a light beer can in his hand as he watched yet another true crime program while relaxing on the sofa. The sheriff was never a man to not bring work home with him, even if only in spirit. Stiles took a deep breath, wondering whether or not the time wasted would be worth giving dad this time to himself, time to relax. But remembering his mother's illness, he knew that that time and comfort was a luxury Stiles could no longer afford. He sidled up next to his father, and hugged him from the side he wasn't holding the beer can from.

"Hey kiddo, just got home." Sheriff said surprisedly, leaning into one of Stiles' rare and brief hugs. Unaware that they would soon be even rarer, if not completely unavailable. "I'm eating what you prepared… I know you're not happy about the beer, but at least it's light, right?"

Stiles smiled blearily, etching his father's face in this moment of contentment into his mind and heart forever. He didn't know if he'd ever see that look on his father's face again.  
"I'm… It's fine dad, I know you cheat sometimes, and I always act like it's a really big deal. But I've done some thinking, and while I really wish you'd eat better, for both of our sakes, I think it's okay if you eat things you enjoy a little more often." Stiles replied, his smile weak, tacked on badly to a face filled with sadness.

"It's okay kiddo, I know I put up a fuss, but I appreciate you doing this, you've been taking real good care of me since…" The Sheriff said consolingly, drifting off at the thought of his late wife, "Besides, most of it's pretty good."

Stiles sighed, "I just got back from my doctor's appointment dad. Something… something came up and I can't let you find out about it from anybody else".

The sheriff sighed, "I knew there had to be a reason you'd let me get away with beer. What is it? Drugs? An STI? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, I'm your father and no matter what, I'll always love you."

Stiles eyes began to water, and he wiggled deeper into the cushions of the old sofa. "I know dad," he croaked, his voice too thick with emotion, "which is why it's so hard to tell you."

The elder Stilinski put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You know I'll be there for you."

"I got some bad news today, pretty much the worst news ever. For me, for you, and I want you to know I'm going to do everything in my power to take care of it. You know Nana and Papa left me more than a little money, and while I'm not sure if it'll cover it, it'll at least make a big dent in the cost." Stiles admitted, wringing his hands, not looking up from his lap.

"Christ Stiles!" The sheriff exclaimed, jostling the plate in his lap as he sat up fully, "what could be that serious? Do you need an organ transplant or something?"

By this point, Stiles had his knees tucked up to his chest, something he hadn't done in nearly eight years. "I wish it was that simple." Stiles took a deep breath to regain what little composure he could, "My tests came back positive. I... I've got what mom had. But I'm already in stage three… and it's metastasized. The doctors don't think they can do much for me here, but have the same treatment options available as..."

Sheriff Stilinski would never be considered by any member of the Beacon Hills community to be a weak man. No individual with even an ounce of compassion would fault Sheriff John Stilinski for clutching his only gotten son and holding him tightly, fighting tears despite himself. "Are- are there any available options?"

"Not here"

"Then where?"

"You and I both know the answer, Dad." Stiles sighed, "Question is, will you let me?"

"I'd do anything to see you get better son" John replied sadly, knowing that these upcoming days could potentially be the last time he would see his son alive. "I promise I'll come for you as soon as I can, even if it's only for a visit."

"I love you dad."

"Genim Rupert Stilinski, I know I don't tell you this often enough, but I love you son, and no matter what I've said or you've done, you always make me proud." The Sheriff said, his voice thick with sadness but full of conviction, as he pulled away, only his hands remaining firmly on Stiles' shoulders.

Stiles smiled, brushing away more spent tears. "I'm gonna beat this dad."

"I know you are son."

"I have some phone calls to make, don't I?"

"I'll start pulling out the suitcases"

\---

It wasn't often that Derek Hale found himself in the presence of a scent he felt was truly overbearing. With the life he's lived, he assumed he could handle any scent, be it festering corpse flesh or the indescribable reek of the New York subways. But whatever horrible cheap cologne Stiles was wearing, it was strong enough that even with his sense of smell dialed almost all the way down, it was still overpowering.

"What is it now Stiles?" Derek asked, intentionally putting on a put-upon demeanor in hopes that Stiles, that smell, and the conflicting emotions that he always seems to have to deal with in the presence of the town's unstoppable ball of spastic energy.

For once, Stiles actually appeared hurt by Derek's callousness. Which is in and of itself strange, seeing as how on any given day Stiles is pretty much the only one who can see past all of Derek's anger, gruffness, and callous nature to see the pained and self-loathing outcast that was fumbling to look like a decent Alpha. And that's why he felt conflicted, because as much as he hated it when Stiles tried to call him out on his attitude, or just show up to aggravate the older werewolf, Stiles always treated him like a person. A person he felt needed a strong talking to apparently. But a person.

Something he hadn't felt like since…

Derek was pulled from his thoughts by the realization that Stiles had been speaking.

"--And so I'll have to be leaving for a while, as you can clearly understand." Stiles concluded in a diplomatic tone, "All I'm asking is that you watch over my dad while I'm away and keep him and Mrs. McCall as safe as you can."

Derek schooled his features away from fear and bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? Why are you leaving again?" Derek asked, his tone belying the shock he felt.

Stiles blanched just a fraction, enough for Derek to notice, but not enough to act on, no matter how suspicious. "There's been a big family emergency, and I need to go stay with my mom's sister in Orla, it's in Texas, while things get sorted out."

"Oh…"

"Yeah. I know, it's sudden, but it's really important that I go." Stiles answered pleadingly, "Please tell me you'll look after dad while I'm gone."

Derek hid behind his usual stony mask, "He falls under pack protection, you know that, even with you… leaving… he'll still be safe here."

Stiles shoulders fell, as if some great weight was removed from them. "Thanks Derek, I'm leaving soon, and I'm not sure how well I'll be able to get in touch with you guys when I get out there. Orla's in the middle of nowhere, so I'm guessing phone service and internet will suck. But whenever I get the chance, I'll message you and the pack."

"Are you going to be okay there?" Derek asked, trying so very very hard to make it sound as condescending as possible, despite how much he actually meant the question.

"It's just an important family thing, there's not trouble I could get into." Stiles replied with the ghost of a smile.

"Famous last words."

Stiles nearly turned grey at those words, "I… I um need to get going." He turned to leave in a hurry.

Derek grabbed Stiles' forearm, admittedly probably a bit too tightly.

"Stay safe Stiles, for all our sakes." Derek implored, "and… I'm going to miss you, so hurry back."

Stiles only nodded quickly before turning on his heels and retreated from the flat. If Derek saw a hint of blushing in the apples of Stiles' cheeks, he chalked it up to his imagination.

\---

Before he knew it, Stiles was on a small airplane headed for Carlsbad, New Mexico, with a small pack of wolves waving sadly from the tarmac. The sheriff and Hale pack had spared no expense, and rather than leave from a large airport like Sacramento or San Francisco, Derek had Lydia pull some strings to get a direct flight from the small airport in Modesto to the nearest airport to Orla, where he'd be met by his aunt.

It was a daunting affair, leaving that is, when one attempts to say goodbye to the pack. Scott had been so caught up in his romance-based manpain over the fact that he and Allison just seemed to be star-crossed lovers, two ships passing in the night, any other obnoxious and overused romantic cliche he could find while watching romantic comedies and crying into his Ben and Jerry's while Allison was in the France learning "the family trade". He was so caught up in his own angst he never stopped to notice the change in Stiles scent, not that he would know considering how little time he'd spent with Stiles during the past year, hell, he didn't even remember that Stiles was leaving until it was happening, despite being told several times, repeatedly, at least three times a day for a week and a half, that Stiles would be going and that the pack wasn't sure when he would be back. Naturally he tried to turn it on himself, yet another person in his life leaving him, much to the extreme aggravation of the rest of the pack.

Isaac had taken the news even worse. Despite his unusual hot and cold emotional reactions around Stiles, Stiles was pack. Stiles had protected him, even from himself, when nobody else would. Stiles cared about Isaac. And some strange part of Isaac, he'd almost swear it was his wolf if that didn't seem absurd, saw Stiles as a parental figure. As someone to listen to. As someone who could take care of him when things got bad. Isaac didn't have a lot of those in his life, so the thought of another one leaving left the boy emotionally distraught and clingy. Stiles had taken it in stride. Allowing, encouraging, and initiating the physical comfort that Isaac required, cooing unintelligible words of comfort and encouragement to him (unintelligible because for the most part they were in Polish, who knew?), and treating Isaac as pack in ways that soothed both the boy and the wolf. It didn't stop Isaac from being a blubbering mess clinging to a sulking Scott McCall as Stiles' flight began taxiing up the runway.

Erica and Boyd, thank god Stiles had convinced them to stay, were curled up against each other against the wind, Erica had set up a special private tumblr about the pack, and had given Stiles the URL and password so that he could post while he was away. Erica promised to update "all the freaking time Stiles, like you won't even believe. You can damn well bet I'll bust through the post limit at least a couple times". And all Stiles could do was smile wanly, not even sure if he'd have a stable internet connection once he made it to his aunt's place.

Derek had just stood there, and if the aura of brooding man-pain seemed larger and more intense that day, or the hug unexpected, Stiles wasn't one to notice or be in a position to judge. If his own goodbye was a little more tearful, a little more heartfelt, and a little more "and I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow", nobody thought to mention it.

Stiles knew this could be a goodbye forever, but he didn't want to think in finalities just yet, and he had a long rode to recovery, and that road started in Orla.


End file.
